Stone, Rag-and-Bone, Royal Throne
by Delta Shout
Summary: A collection of small stories, mostly Rumbelle, usually AU. Based on ideas/scenes that occur to me (quickly voided by canon) but have no real intention being an entire fic ATM. Characters/Genres will be changed or added as it progresses, and updated sporadically. Chapter 1: Peter and Rumple were best of friends, until Pan betrayed him. What might have happened? (Warning: Violence)


_**This is going to be a collection of AUs and ideas that present themselves as they come. **_

**_Usually the show renders them void before I even have a chance to write them. AUs give me trouble because I construct the world around them but have to take time to explain what's going of for other people to understand (those without direct access to my brain, that is). Also sometimes I just have an idea for how a single scene might play out, but no real plot line. So this will be just small, mini fics with a short brief context so you know what's generally happening._  
**

**_~xXx~_**

_An idea from 3x04. Peter and Rumple were best of friends, until Pan betrayed him. What might have happened?  
_

**Best Friends**

Rumple liked Peter. It was nice to have someone around who didn't look down at him. Or throw stones when he came too close.

They were friends, Peter said, and Rumple had never had a friend before.

(Best of friends, Peter would say. Peter would know, he knew everything.)

Sometimes when Rumple closed his eyes, he liked to imagine Peter as his big brother. It was a nice feeling but not the sort he could ever share with his friend. After all, everyone in his family had left him and he certainly didn't want Peter to leave. Peter may have been a bit cruel on occasion, he liked to poke animals to see what they did, but all big brothers are a bit cruel.

(The animals always bit. Rumple tried not to mind.)

Peter called him names a lot and sometimes they were mean and nasty. He would feel bad afterwards, but then Peter would tell him he was joking – _just teasing_, he would say – and call him Laddie.

(Peter never apologised. That wasn't what boys did.)

Rumple liked it when Peter called him Laddie. He thought it was much better than Rumplestiltskin. His father had named him. Rumple didn't like to think about his father.

(When Peter called him Laddie, Rumple would forget all about the mean names he had said.)

Sometimes Peter made up games for them. Rumple loved to play Peter's games. They were a lot of fun. Some games they played together, but most games were for one person. Peter always let Rumple play them and Peter would watch.

(Peter liked to watch him play games.)

Every night Peter would light a bonfire. Peter liked bonfires. He said that bonfires show us things. He said bonfires show people the burning light, a magical, eternal truth. But bonfires also show us the darkness. He said that knowing about the light is the reason why people are scared of the shadows.

(Rumple wasn't sure about this. He wasn't scared of the shadows. He even liked Peter's shadow, with its glowing eyes.)

Peter would play his music every night around the bonfire and Rumple would dance with all of the shadows. It became a game. The shadows liked playing with him. They would dance around the bonfire until the morning light came in through the trees and melted the shadows away.

(The shadows would always leave. Rumple didn't mind them leaving each day, they would always return when the sun went down.)

Tonight was different, Peter had said. Peter had told him he had a surprise waiting. Rumple liked Peter's surprises. They were always good fun.

Peter had brought something with him tonight. It lay beside the bonfire, wrapped up in a big cloth sack. The shadows crowded around it for a good look. Peter said it was a gift for him. Rumple never got gifts, he said. And this gift especially good.

It was for a game.

A new game, he said. Something no one had thought of before. He smiled at him.

Rumple wasn't too sure about this new game. The shadows weren't dancing tonight, just watching on. The shadows seemed to know something Rumple didn't. But it was just a game.

Peter laughed. "Go on Laddie, it's a part of the game!"

Hesitantly, Rumple grinned at Peter, and turned back to the fire side. Peter always made good games, he thought, and Rumple was the first ever to play this one. He liked being first. "How do I open it?" He asked.

"Here," Peter tossed Rumple his knife. His knife was small and dull grey from overuse, not like the big and shiny broad swords knights and noblemen used, but it was always sharp. Peter used it to carve branches into toys for them to play with. It was very rare that Rumple got to use it, so this must be a very special game indeed.

Finding the seam, Rumple slit the sack right down the middle. He pushed aside the cloth to see what it was covering. He gasped. In the sack was a man.

Rumple dropped the knife.

The man was tied up, trussed up like an animal for the slaughter. He had an old rag tied around his mouth to keep him from shouting. His eyes were wide and terrified.

"Do you like my present?" Peter asked with glee. He stepped around Rumple and pulled the man onto his knees before them. "It was a lot of trouble keeping him from moving around and spoiling the surprise."

Peter cocked his head at Rumple. "Don't you recognise him?" He asked. "I suppose it has been a while. Here, I'll help you," He grabbed a fistful of hair and twisted, using it to move the man's head to catch the light.

Rumple gave a little cry of alarm, staring at the man before him. His heart plummeted down to his stomach.

It was his father.

He was older and greyer than Rumple remembered. He had more wrinkles on his face than before, all from worry lines and hard living. He was thinner too.

Rumple felt ill.

The shadows loomed menacingly around the fire. They had never done that before. They were so silent, so unlike the dancing figures Rumple had always known. He was getting scared.

Peter was suddenly beside him again. "And now it's time to play the game," He said.

"Wha – what's the game?" Rumple stuttered. He did not want to play anymore, but he didn't want to tell Peter that. _Games did not involve fathers_, he wanted to say. But he didn't. He didn't want to upset Peter.

"It's a very fun game," Peter smiled. It was not like the smiles Rumple had ever seen; it was sharp and hinted of malice. "We're going to play 'Cowardly, Cowardly Custard'."

Rumple tried to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry. He wasn't sure what kind of game this was but he couldn't speak up to ask. "Do you want to know how to play Laddie?" He nodded dumbly.

"It's really simple." Peter picked up the knife from the dirt where it lay. He placed it back into Rumple's hand, curling his unresponsive fingers to grasp the handle.

"You pick a target," He said, pointing to his father, "and then push the blade in." Rumple began to shake. "Don't worry, Laddie. It's like Pin the Tail on the Donkey, but easier."

Noticing his hesitance, Peter put a comforting arm around his shoulder. "I know it seems scary, but you'll be alright. You can close your eyes if you want."

"N-n-no." He stammered.

"No? Okay hero, have at it!"

Taking a deep breath, Rumple found that spark of courage inside of him. "N-not that, this. I d-don't want to. I don't want to play this game. "

Peter's eyes turned cold. Rumple had never seen that before. His knees shook. "This is your _father_!" He hissed. "This is the coward who ran away and left you all alone. He deserves this."

Rumple trembled under his gaze. Peter was right. Peter was always right. "Don't you want to hurt him like he hurt you?"

Rumple nodded.

"Don't you want him to be punished?"

Again he nodded.

"Then go ahead and _punish him_!"

"Please," Rumple begged. "This is supposed to be a game. It's not supposed to be real."

He snorted in disgust. "Here, I'll show you how it's done." Peter took the blade from his trembling fingers and stalked over to the captive.

He spun the knife in his hand and took aim.

"NO!" Rumple screeched.

"It's okay Laddie," Peter laughed. He walked back over to him and smiled reassuringly. "I wasn't going to."

Rumple gave a weak smile back. He was so relieved. He may not have liked his father, but he wouldn't want any harm to come to him.

Peter passed the dagger back to Rumple's hands, catching his eye as he did so. "That's your job."

He looked down at the knife. But it wasn't just a simple blade anymore, used to carve little wooden figures. It was a weapon.

It was a weapon Peter wanted him to use. On his father

But Rumple couldn't. He just couldn't.

He gave up. He folded onto the ground, his dirty face streaked with tears. Peter's knife was held in front of him, clutched between his two clammy hands. He cast it aside, not wanting to look at it ever again.

Rumple felt sick all over. He wanted something warm and familiar, not this dark and shadowy world of blood and bone. He wanted to curl up, to wake up and find that this was all a dream.

In desperation, Rumple pulled out the straw soldier from his pocket. It had always comforted him in the past. He rubbed it like always, but the special calming magic it once held must have worn off.

"No, no, we can't have baby toys here." Peter snatched it from his grip and danced out of the way of his now empty hands. He skipped past his father and threw it into the bonfire. The flame licked up to greet his straw man and in seconds it was a charred mess resting atop the blackened logs.

Rumple stifled a sob. Boys didn't cry.

But he had upset Peter. That was why Peter had thrown the soldier into the fire. He didn't want to make Peter mad, but he had.

He hoped that Peter still wanted to be his friend.

Peter watched over him from beside the bonfire, looking at the trembling form of Rumplestiltskin with a sneer.

"I'm bored of this game," he said. "You're no fun."

The knife was suddenly in Peter's hand, dragging the blade over his father's throat.


End file.
